Elegiacs
by ThinkingAbout
Summary: Trunks returns home, after training with Roshi, to face his family.


The land remembered. A paradox that became more true, as his own mortal life flew by, and the

changeless nature of the hills and valleys remained as it ever had, mindless and immemorial. The

midsummer heat on his back began to dissipate as soon as he walked from his open-top car

under the shadow of the red-woods. The girth of these red-woods bore witness to their age -

arms and arms wide, centuries and centuries of lives they may have seen - and their deep green

crowns vanished out of sight in the blue haze. His feet crunched over their evergreen needles,

releasing sap as a menthol scent that drifted upwards and prickled his senses with strong

memories. Running, climbing, falling, thrilling at the falling dusk. Had he ever been so young?

Had the days been so endlessly, blissfully long?

His strong legs made nothing of the slope and the distance, far from civilisation into mountainous

terrain. This was a pilgrimage, this tedious, emotionally charged trudge up and up the hill.

The glass-walled house was ablaze with light in the dusk; it delved into the mountainside and

settled into sandstone caves, illuminated by copper bore-holes that let in every last mote of

daylight. Not a motion could be seen; the immense compound appeared sterile; without life,

although glowing among the evergreen trees.

Habit dictated that he remove his boots as soon as he strode through the sliding glass door. He

left these on the mat, and strode across the sprung timber floor, amazed anew at the woodland

view through the floor-to-ceiling glass panes to his left, rough sandstone walls to his right. The

place was snug and dry, scented with vanilla and pine. Immaculate and delightful, after months of

musky, nature-borne smells.

He took himself to the study, the foremost point of the building, where his sister sat in a high-back

cream leather armchair, overlooking the woodland view as the sun set. This tall, thin, light-haired

girl rose unsteadily to meet her taller, muscular brother, who walked with unconscious strength to

appraise her.

She wrapped him in frail arms, clasping his forearms in boney fingers while she smiled at him with

genuine pleasure, and then sank back into her chair.

"Dear me! Trunks! It's so good to see you, at last!"

He nodded, and settled into an opposite seat, snug by a log fire, and observed the husk of a girl

he'd last seen.

"I'm sorry I'm not quite as you remember me," she acknowledged, mushing her fingertips into her

sunken, pale cheeks, "I have not been well."

He drew a breath, as though to talk, and then huffed it out, unable to formulate an answer through

the choke of nostalgia and heartache.

"But you look so well, love!" she continued, with a wavering enthusiasm, "the Pacific climate has

done you wonders!"

"I-" he found his voice at last, "I know I said I'd be back sooner, I'm sorry. Roshi kept us until

November, and then Goten got word that his grandfather was unwell, so we went straight to the

mountains, and, well…"

His sister nodded, and lowered her eyes;

"I'm sorry. Did he suffer much?"

He shrugged.

"He wished to be exposed before the illness could take hold. So I helped Goten, Gohan and their

mother to carry him up into the mountains. We walked away, and…"

He bowed his head.

The birdlike creature reached her hand out to lay on his arm, with naked compassion.

"That must have been awful, I'm so sorry. Is Goten okay?"

He nodded, mutely.

"I can understand why you took your time coming back," she continued, "Goten would have

needed support while his mother took over sovereignty. The first female ruler of the principality!

That's quite an honour."

Again, he nodded, and replied;

"She… wanted to name Gohan as her heir, but he refused. His life - his wife and daughter, his

friends and his profession - are in what he calls 'the real world'. He does not want to give up his

future to a tiny mountain principality, and I can see why. But…"

"That places a tremendous burden on Goten," his sister nodded, "and you, by extension."

He raised his eyes past her, out through the window to the red glow of the setting sun through the

pines, and the deep twilight above.

"I've done no better for you," he said, after a long pause, "Leaving you to take over the company.

You're… not strong."

She smiled, and settled back in her chair, shoulder-blades scraping against the hide and

beechwood back.

"I am not as weak as all that. After only three years under my control, the Capsule Corp has

expanded into new industries, and grown in activity by twenty percent. And, for the first time in

thirty years, it is no longer making a profit. All that it earns is channeled back into the

communities it serves, or to the sites of greatest need."

She smiled, seemingly delighted at the result.

"Of course, it is not sustainable. We have no shareholders, nor have we ever, and the family can

live comfortably for centuries on our wages as directors and executive officers. But this is

America!" her voice rang out through the glass room, mocking, "here profit is king."

He could not argue the point, but hoped that she was wrong, or that a change would emerge to

allow this utopia to prosper. He said, at last;

"What do they think of your strategy?"

She cast him a bleak glance, understanding that he referred to their parents.

"Mother rarely looks up from her work. She has many desires, all blazing as brightly as ever.

Foremost among them, to heal her friend and wake him from the dead; to provide some inviolable

defence for this planet; and to recover the damage that has been done by the alien wars of the

past decades."

He smiled, and allowed a bitter laugh. She continued;

"Father continues to test and perfect his abilities. He looks daily for a new threat, and he will

never rest until he obliterates whatever it is."

"Then-" he hesitated before continuing, conscious of his sister's reverence for their father, "then

he has not yet developed a craft capable of taking him away from Earth, and back to the

remnants of his own people?"

She smiled, tinged with sadness.

"My dear, I thought you knew. He developed this capacity years ago. Not long after I was born,

he was able to leave this place for the site of the last Saiyan colony. The technology was

untested but, as with all of his machinations, infallible."

This was news to the elder brother, and he struggled for a moment to assimilate. Their father

remained on Earth, when he need not. If anything, there were strong reasons for him to leave.

His genetic material could mean the difference between the survival or destruction of an isolated

colony; his expertise in war could lead them to victory, where without it they would certainly fail.

But Beula had had enough of explaining, and poured tea from a translucent porcelain pot into two

cups, one of which she handed to her brother, and the other of which she cupped between her

pale palms.

"I've shocked you. Like me, you thought he'd take off as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

You are doubtless astonished to hear that he still has some investment in his half-human progeny.

I was somewhat surprised too. I will not survive ten more years."

She shook off his impassioned objection, and continued;

"I am too weak. I can manage my infirmities, but I have found no way to overcome them."

Her voice barely shook, although she swallowed hard before going on.

"I will never bear them grandchildren. I was born to die, and soon enough, that is what I will do.

Which brings me to you. Have you told them? About how you spent this past year? And what

you have discovered?"

He looked directly into her blameless blue eyes, his own as clear and as inscrutable. He shook

his head.

"Do they know?" he asked, at barely a murmur.

She did not move, but her voice was gentle.

"Mother does. She is conscious of these things, and she keeps up a relatively close relationship

with ChiChi, though goodness knows how! They approve. ChiChi has her grandchild by Gohan.

But Father? If he knows anything, he says nothing. What would he say?"

"Well, he could insist that I couple with a Saiyan woman, or some worthy human," the man

interjected, with no little bitterness, rolling his fragile teacup between his hands.

His sister was solicitous.

"His marriage has given him an appreciation of human sentiment and convention. You are at least

half human, and that gives you certain privileges."

He took her meaning, but with little gratitude.

"So he will permit me to live, but he will not acknowledge me?" he snarled, sounding more like his

father than he knew.

His sister shrugged again.

"What can you expect of him? Do please remember that Goten's father is his mortal enemy. The

accord of peace between them hangs on brittle threads. Strain such a thread at your peril."

"You don't understand!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet without realising, "What have you done to

anger them?! Run the company as a non-profit?! This is admirable!"

She rose, unsteadily, and stared her brother down.

"I have committed a far greater crime than you. I am born weak. If mother's crime was to be

weak relative to a Saiyan, mine is to be weak relative to a human. I am no warrior. I am not the

bride of a warrior. I am a pitiful, anaemic child. A genetic dead end."

The weight of her words sat on his chest like pebbles of granite, and blinking back tears, he

pulled her fragile form into his arms.

"Dear, I'm so sorry. I did not think about what I was saying. You'll forgive me, won't you? I never

meant to hurt you. I'm grateful to you for running the company and giving them something to

cling to in my absence."

She slipped her arms around her brother's shoulders, and held him as he cried into her hair. She

knew why he did so. There would be no place for tears when he made this confession to their

parents. Her heart swelled with pity for his circumstance, and she willed him to survive. How

happy he could be, if only he survived this ordeal. This was spring. He was young, and in love.


End file.
